It is good that megabytes don’t weigh much. If they did, my phone would be too heavy to carry, because it is stuffed with moments. The best ones prove something or remind you of a lesson learnt. Like these thistles.
Twas the night before Glastonbury, and all through the house… people are gone. The cat lies mournfully with an entire bedroom to herself and my phone is alive with stressed messages from family, friends and colleagues. They are all preparing to dance in the fields of excess, with crowds, heatstroke, mud fever, cocktails, and far too much fun. It’s quiet and sensible here. What to do with all that ‘not going to Glastonbury’ free time? Step out and admire the flowers? No, better than that. Let’s clean the cupboard under the sink.
Dear ancestors, Why did you hoard all this stuff? Bunch of sneaks. How did you squirrel it away upstairs? The letters, diaries, and tiny brown photos of strangers whimper when you open a drawer. ‘Don’t throw us out, we made it this far, we might be special’. The scrapbook at the back is silent. Who put it there? What’s in it?
Snowdrops symbolise innocence, the quality that lets you declare a grand plan that will never happen. Announcing you will Feng Shui one corner a week for example. One year later you will discover that you didn’t do it. Now what? Have a word with the clutter, ask the right questions, and work out why it is still here.
When work, outings and social lives stop, a vista of free time opens up. Your chance for nailing the list of things to do and nurture body and soul with new pursuits.
In the nineteenth century, ancestors acquired cameras and started squirrelling piles of photos.